Things He Didn't Know
by embracing-shadows
Summary: “You know what you are?” I ask him. It’s a silly question. Of course he doesn’t know. Once again, I haven’t told him yet. I must learn to break this habit of asking him if he knows things that he doesn’t know.


Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot!

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The sunlight, when I started to come to, was streaming directly in to my closed eyes. I groaned pitifully and brought my hands up to cover my face, noticing in passing that my whole body felt heavier that a truck and sluggish. My head pounded and my throat was dry. My mouth felt like someone had died inside it and had started decomp. Not a great way to start the morning, but not something I was completely virgin to. Obviously I'd had a bit too much to drink the night before, and my body was punishing me for my indiscretion. It took a while for me to be able to move again, and even longer for me to convince my eyes to face the big bad sunlit world.

I lowered my hands and held them in the air above me as I squinted at the foreign room I was in. I lay on an old blue couch in a living room I was unfamiliar with, still fully clothed but woefully disoriented. A raked my eyes in different directions and stopped when I landed on Nick Stokes, comfortably ensconced in a blue armchair and sipping coffee while he watched me regret my decisions of alcohol intake. Actually they stopped when I landed on a human and it took a few seconds for my hammering headache clogged brain to catch up and figure out whom it was. He was smiling too, damn him.

"Morning Greggo," he greeted me in a soft voice. I appreciated that. I didn't reply, only groaned again and let my head fall gently back on to its cushion, urging my head to just go ahead and explode already. Advil would be nice, or at least a toothbrush. I didn't even need toothpaste, just something to wipe away the scum covering my teeth. I lay still for a while longer before slowly fighting with my body to sit up. My legs protested as they were swung out and they screamed when I stood. Then the world tilted and I had time to crash forward, barely registering the bowl deftly thrown in front of my face, before I was heaving and ridding my stomach of every meal I'd eaten in the past year and a half. My breath wouldn't come easily even a while after I finished, and my entire body shook violently. Nick handed me a box of Kleenex and a bottle of water, which I took gratefully and cleaned my face off, drowning the taste of vomit with cool clear water. Oh it must have been the sweetest thing I'd ever tasted.

Nick was standing next to me, kneeling and shivering, and he had a hand on my shoulder comfortingly. I used that as an anchor to reality, barely choking out my thanks for him before the bowl called to me again and I brought up nothing but bile this time. He squeezed my shoulder in support. If I believed in God I would have cursed him right then. I felt miserable, unstable. And I hated that Nick saw me like this. He didn't say a word though. After he got me safely back on the couch, bowl still close at hand, he left me alone for a moment, coming back with very strong coffee, no milk and lots of sugar. Just how I loved it. I tried to thank him, but it came out as a grunt. He seemed to understand though. He took the bowl away and rinsed it, returning it to me before settling back in to his blue armchair. It matched the couch.

"What happened?" I croaked out, voice scratchy from the abuse my throat had just gone through. All sorts of scenarios ran through my suddenly panic-stricken brain. What had I told him? What had I done? Had I acted badly? He looked thoughtfully at me, toying with the handle of his coffee mug.

"I have no idea," he replied. "You showed up three in the morning, and I couldn't get a straight answer out of you. You kept saying you had something to tell me, but when I asked you said you weren't drunk enough. Although, I've got to say, I've never seen anyone so drunk in my life." He trailed off and tilted his head, squaring me with that look of his that said he wanted an explanation and he wanted it now. But Nick Stokes was nothing if not a patient man. He could deal without knowing my every secret. So I apologized to him and lied. I told him I didn't remember needing to tell him anything, certainly not anything important enough to show up at three am. And I apologized. For fuck's sake, I apologized for what I had done it. Although to be fair he didn't know that I was really saying I was sorry that I chickened out once again. I'm sorry I didn't tell you Nick, but it just never seemed like the right time to make you hate me. Oops, did I say too much? He frowned but didn't press me.

So here I am again. It's four o'clock this time but somewhere in the back on my drink-clouded brain I'm convinced that he's surely still up. If I'm awake, the rest of the world must be. Or they will be soon, with the volume I'm carrying on at. It takes a few seconds for me to notice that the door has been opened and I'm pounding my fists on air.

"Hello Nicky!" I've thrown my arms around his neck and thrown myself off balance in the process. Essentially I'm hanging off of him. When I let go my entire body flops to the floor in a loud, undignified heap. When am I ever dignified anyway? Not with him around anyway. He has this lovely tendency to turn me in to a clumsy, stuttering mass of I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-doing. When I happen to mention that to him he does this momentary freeze up thing like he's surprised. I can't imagine why that surprises him, but then I notice my shoelace is undone and I'm riveted by this new fact. He helps me inside. There's that living room again. I recognize it in the very, very far back of my brain.

"I was wrong last night," Nick is murmuring from somewhere to my side. I'm examining a spot of air with severe interest. "I had no idea anyone could get this drunk. How did you get here?" I stop examining my air and contemplate that. How _did_ I get here? His listens while I think out loud; I seem to remember sitting on a bar stool, and then there were many stretches of residential Vegas. A lot of grass too. I think I fell down a lot. This stands to reason, since I can't stand up very well right now, and suddenly I fall backwards in to Nick. He seems to fight a laugh, making it come out as a small snicker that I love to hear, and sets me back on my feet. Asks me why I'm here again. My smile, I'm sure, is as asinine as it is big. And it's pretty big.

"I, Greg Sanders, have come to finally tell you about it," I announce. He cocks up one side of his mouth and nods as if he understands perfectly what I've said. But I'm sure he doesn't because I haven't told him yet. So I look up at him and pat his chest reassuringly, to make him feel better about not knowing.

"Don't worry, I'm drunk enough this time," I assure him. He snorts at something, perhaps a funny thought or something, I don't know. But he nods again anyway. Poor guy doesn't even know what he doesn't understand.

"Alright G, I'm all yours," he says.

"Ah, right to the point," I say. "I like that." He looks confused, so I'm quick to fill him in. Of course, I'm most definitely drunk enough this time. "You see that's exactly the point Nicky, darling. You're not, in point of fact, all mine. If you were, none of those girl would flirt with you because you'd be all mine and I'd buy you a shirt that said 'MINE' and I'd make you wear it every day. I bet you'd look rather delicious too." I take a moment to stare off in contemplation of just how delicious he would look. Apparently I took too long for him or something, I dunno, because he snaps his fingers in front of me.

"Earth to Greg. You were saying?" he urges me to continue. I'm quite happy to oblige.

"Yes, yes, yes. I was saying how you weren't all mine. Well you see I've been drinking, err thinking. Well I _have_ been drinking but what I mean is that I've been thinking a lot lately and so I started the drinking so I could come tell you what I've been thinking. I think. Anyway, what I wanted to come tell you and am now drunk enough to tell you is that I _want_ you to be all mine. Now, now, no faces like that, I know you don't feel the same and that's just perfectly fine but I think you…er…well I just forgot what I thought. Anyway. You get the point, right?" I look up at him and flash him what I hope is my brilliant Sanders smile, the one that makes ladies weak in the knees but has no effect on him.

"Wow Greg…" he says softly. I don't know why he says it so quietly. My head doesn't hurt right now, and this can't have come as a surprise. I don't think I could have been any more obvious, other than getting drunk and showing up at his house confessing my – never mind that. I've been obvious was the point.

"You know what you are?" I ask him. It's a silly question. Of course he doesn't know. Once again, I haven't told him yet. I must learn to break this habit of asking him if he knows things that he doesn't know.

"Uh, what am I Greg?" he wants to know. I wink. Maybe he likes it when I wink. Probably not though.

"Sex in a bottle!" I announce. I'm brilliant. Yes, I am brilliant. Nick Stokes is sex in a bottle and oh how I wish I could bottle sex with Nick Stokes. Although it would be great to try it first and experience it for real. Not that it will happen. Mmm, sex with Nick. Wait he's talking. I wonder if he knows that I love his voice. It's deep and it rolls, laced with lingering traces of a Texas accent that was never sexy until he came along.

"Greg, do you…have…some sort of feelings for me?" he asks.

"Yes!" I clarify his thought enthusiastically. Finally he gets my point. Oh, it's good to know my chosen soul mate isn't clueless. Oh I've said that last bit out loud and he's gaping at me again and saying "oh" in that soft voice that I'm not of the purpose of. Then I smile and leave. Brilliant, I congratulate myself. An absolute brilliant maneuver, to leave before he can hit me. I'm smiling – and falling, it must be admitted – somewhere on someone's grass when I hear that somehow sexy accent calling out my name. Turning around is not an option my body is open to discuss, however, and when I try I end up tripping over my own feet and toppling heavily to the grass. At least it's nice soft grass. I watch Nick run closer from my spot on my back. When he gets here he kneels next to me and smiles. I love his smile.

"You ran away without an answer you know," he says. Well yes, actually I do know that. When I tell him to hit me gently he furrows his brow. "I'd never hit you, Greg," he protests. I'm relieved, actually. I'm not a very big guy, and Nick is very much stronger than me. If he wanted to punch me, there wouldn't be much I'd be able to do to stop him.

"I've been drinking, you know," I say to him. There was a point behind it, at some time. I don't remember now. I just know that it was at some point important to me to tell him that I'm drunk. I think it's to make sure he knows, so later maybe I can blame all of this on the drink. He laughs at me.

"That is much too obvious. But you didn't have to run away G. You could have stayed and listened to what I was saying when you made that retarded Indiana Jones exit." He smiles but I frown. Indiana-? Oh right. I jumped out his window. Good thing I wasn't wearing a hat; I'd never have been able to fish it off the floor after falling out the other side.

"Well…what were you saying?" I ask. A part of me doesn't want to know, but most of me does. And I'm painfully aware that I only want to know what he was saying because I want to hear him speak again as much as I can get before he realizes he hates me for my feelings. Feelings that good Christian boys like him would find very wrong. Stupid God. His smile is warm and I almost get distracted by it, and the forbidden fruit it holds.

"I have those same feelings G. I just…didn't think drinking myself senseless and confessing them would turn out great for us." His words don't sink in right away and I'm off speaking about how I'd only come up with this plan after I'd started drinking but I cut off and stop talking in the middle of a word when they finally do manage to make it to my brain. My very slow brain. The stare I'm giving him probably isn't very attractive but it can't be helped at the moment. He chuckles. Then he leans in and closes my mouth by biting my bottom lip and dragging it up. Then he kisses me. Hello heaven, have we met? Ah yes, your name is Nick Stokes, is it not? I believe I know you already. But not like this. Never like this. His lips are soft and I can taste his toothpaste. It's minty. His tongue parts my teeth and strokes along my own tongue and I've never felt _anything_ like this before, it's so amazing. I tell him that when he pulls away and his chuckle has grown in to a full-blown laugh. I realize how close he is when I feel his laughter reverberate out of his chest and in to mine, sending vibrations through me.

"Greggo, get up. You can sleep in the bed this time. And I'll fill you in, in the morning." He pulls me up on to my feet, but they don't feel like cooperating now. He smiles at them with me and half-carries me back to his place. His bed is soft, but it's no comparison to his lips. Thinking of them I turn to look curiously at his mouth. He knows what I want because he pulls me close for another kiss. I ask if I'm allowed to do that on my own now and he hides his laughter, saying anytime I want. Neither of us slept very much that day. When I did pass out he whispered in my ear.

"I'll have much to tell you in the morning Greg. But promise that you'll remember one thing."

"I promise," I whisper sleepily, because I would promise him anything.

"I love you."


End file.
